


True Colours

by Greenplay



Category: Brat'ya Karamazovy | Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Genre: Angst, False Memories, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 08:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenplay/pseuds/Greenplay
Summary: This is not Ivan's hallucination. (I made) It really happened.





	True Colours

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [最后的晚餐](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12381510) by [Greenplay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenplay/pseuds/Greenplay). 



It took them several months to get to this point. Finally, Ivan and Smerdyakov found a chance to hold conversations undisturbed.

“We need to take action as soon as possible. Things can go wrong anytime.” Smerdyakov said and filled the tea-cup for Ivan. That “thing” surely referred to Dmitri, who was completely driven mad by lust and jealousy at the moment. Who knew what he was capable of? They’d be best off if Dmitri and Fyodor fight each other til death, but it might turn out another way. Smerdyakov spoke again, in a casual but measured manner:” I do know something about master’s tastes. Certain wine and food are so very essential to his appetite and mood. I urged him to take care of himself at least three times a day…you know he is no longer young, but things CAN go wrong anytime. It happens when you eat or drink too much or inappropriately. How can I say…”

Ivan stared at Smerdyakov’s skillful hands. They moved surprisingly elegantly. He talked like leisure class people (which was rude for someone as a servant), and so daringly that it almost annoyed Ivan. It never occurred to him that Smerdyakov could be a mastermind of a crime. The fact that his idea actually impressed him, was even more annoying. Ivan felt offended, but he was not quite sure which one was more offensive: the suggestion of murder, or suggestion solely made to Ivan? The latter one stood a higher chance. The murderer chose him as his own sponsor.

Ivan grabbed the tea-cup, lips convulsing as if hurt by the hot tea, and mocked: “Out of the question. I don’t think it’ll play out that way. To be precise, I don’t think YOU are able and daring enough to do so. Let’s just wait and see how it goes. Let one reptile devour the other…” He murmured, and unconsciously fixed his gaze upon Smerdyakov, not knowing who he was trying to convince.

“So you cower, afraid to actually do it? You don’t have to worry about it. I won’t let you down. You can keep your hands clean. I know clever men prefer to stay out of…”

“I do not cower. There is nothing to be afraid of.” Ivan looked away, “It is a question of trust. A Karamazov is the last to be trusted, and you are a half-bred…This is madness.” He had a feeling that their conspiracy was destined to fail. Why? He could not tell for sure. But it must have something to do with Smerdyakov’s bloodline. His mother was a lunatic wasn’t she? That woman who gave birth in the garden might have passed the curse to him. 

“I bear the same blood as you do, no more and no less!” Smerdyakov whispered, angry fire visible in his eyes. Normally he was not so easily provoked. Fyodor made jokes of his birth several times before, but he couldn’t care less. It was Ivan that made him vulnerable to insults. He was not himself today, or maybe too himself at all. He continued:” And your teachings as well. Everything is lawful! Sense and reason suit you well, but these are just pretenses. Pretense leads to nowhere! I shall be your true colours. I AM your true colours.”

Such bold confession shocked Ivan. It was not the first time that Smerdyakov used his words as weapons but today he was much more aggressive. Ivan quickly snapped back, as if trying to shake off a malicious accusation, “I am afraid you misunderstood me. We met just several months ago and that’s all it is. You are the family’s cook and I am good-for-nothing. And I had planned my trip to Moscow already. I don’t think my father will run into unpredictable bad luck, nor will you be the cause of it.” Ivan stopped and put down his tea-cup, beckoning Smerdyakov to take it away. 

The servant stared straight into his master’s eyes, lips trembling. And then he took the order and started to clean the table.

Ivan let out a cautious sigh of relief, turned his back to Smerdyakov and determined not to pay attention to him anymore, secretly hoping their previous conversation could be wiped clean just like the table. 

He heard the clinking sound from behind, and then was suddenly dazed by a heavy blow on the head. The room turned upside down before the pain took his mind, and soon dragged him into darkness.

 

 

Ivan had a splitting headache when he woke up. He felt terribly dizzy, but not really injured. That thing must be something thick and heavy, might be a wooden box or a huge book…

And then he saw Smerdyakov’s face. Well played, Ivan thought. 

Somehow he was not surprised to be violated by the servant, which was a strange acknowledgement that he could not explain. Instead he was furious. How dare him? Ivan tried to strike back but found himself stuck in a hopeless situation: he was gagged and hands bound, lying on his own bed. 

Ivan struggled hard against the rope, but could not loosen a bit. What did Smerdyakov want? What could he possibly want from him? Was he completely insane? 

The servant was still staring at him, not submissively any more. His eyes, filled with Karamazov violence of passion and fascination, were fixed on his master. It was all so very familiar that Ivan would never admit it.

“’Everything is lawful’. That’s what you said. All is permitted…You convinced me but you don’t trust me! How can I assure you…” His eyes swept Ivan up and down, whose coat and jacket were stripped already, shirt and trousers painfully dressed.

Ivan shook his head violently, as if trying to undo what he had done to Smerdyakov. He was the sweet poison Ivan brew, and the prickly rose he grew. There was no turning back. His resistance died long ago with his own god.

Smerdyakov did not stop. He bent over to kiss Ivan, who was shivering like a weak candlelight, caressed by the tender breath of devil. He meant no harm to Ivan, nor did he mean well. He was just desperate to prove himself.

But Ivan refused to be convinced. Tears streamed down his face, and soon evaporated into nervous gasps, like bleeding dying animals. That miserable look of Ivan reminded Smerdyakov of those kitties and puppies he used to have fun of. They struggled futilely for life but there was only one solution. They were not Ivan. Ivan was never like that. His master was able to endure everything and permit everything. So he released Ivan’s mouth, looking for something more than silent resistance. 

Ivan coughed and blood flushed into his cheeks. He could hardly breathe, “Let go of me…This is madness, let go of me already!”

Smerdyakov did not take the order. He looked at Ivan for several seconds, made sure that he would not scream out, and then continued his work. He held Ivan’s shoulder tight and started to undress him, hands taking care of his trousers and teeth unbuttoning his shirt. 

This was not going to stop. Ivan finally realised the situation and closed his eyes. He wished all these nightmares turned out to be real nightmares. But no one answered to his wish, except the devil. HE was still there. Wait…wait, it had to be like this. The devil made sense! HE never obeyed Ivan’s orders and never left without being fully satisfied! HE was the proof of hallucination. Real Smerdyakov would never do this to him. How dare him! But the vicious servant was indeed unpredictable sometimes…in that case…Smerdaykov’s image must have mingled with other moral sins buried inside of Ivan’s head. That’s how nightmare was constructed wasn’t it?

Ivan was convinced. Everything made sense now.

All he had to do was to wait, just like before, wait til the devil had his fill of pleasure. Ivan held his breath and again, closed his eyes and decided not to give any response at all, but some part vital was held by Smerdyakov too——

Ivan almost screamed, but his mouth was immediately covered by Smerdyakov. His other hand thrilled Ivan’s whole body as if pleading him to give in. But Ivan did not collapse right away, instead he gave him a nasty bite, forcing the servant to back off. “Get out…get off me! You are stirring my mind and faking someone else, you are not him…just pieces of memories…reveal yourself!” He yelled at the devil.  
“…What?” Smerdyakov felt cold and confused. Obviously Ivan was at mercy of the servant and very close to the point, but still treated him like he was not even there.

“You are trying to honour yourself by blasphemy? By murdering the god? Poor choice! I had killed HIM long ago, long before you even existed…you are made of filth and sins and nothing more! Hide-and-seek…is that what you are playing? You pathetic little creature just fled my mind…” He was not allowed to finish the sentence, for the overwhelming orgasm had rendered him speechless. 

“This doesn’t feel right…I am not HIM.” Smerdyakov realised. Ivan was possessed by an invisible power, who seized his mind and consciousness, leaving no room for Smerdyakov. This was so infuriating. Ivan kept ignoring him no matter what he did. His theory of apostasy, his advocacy of freedom, his confession of love…no matter what! Ivan was a master of hide-and-seek, but Smerdyakov got tired of this game.

One wet finger found its way through the maze, while the other hand held Ivan’s face in place. He stared into his half-brother’s eyes and pleaded, “Look at me, just look at me.”

Strange pain dragged Ivan out of his daze, making him tremble all over. He cried and cried, as if smashed by some brutal foreign weapons. “No, god…hell, no, please don’t…no!” He screamed, bound hands again trying to free himself, legs trying to kick off the kidnapper.

Smerdyakov had to seal his mouth and pinned him with all the strength. Ivan seemed to lose his mind. He started talking nonsense frantically and might scream out anytime. It was not a real concern though, since Fyodor was enjoying his nap time, Alysha still praying in his monastery, and Dmitri had gone to who-knows-where…

And now Ivan was still planning to escape. His heart seemed too wild to be held by physical binding. This was not fair. Smerdyakov gave another try, “Listen, there’s no one here! No one to be accused of…It’s just me. Do you see?” Do you see me as equal, someone worthy of mutual communication? 

He had to remind Ivan of this matter of fact. More fingers joined the first one. It felt like cramming ducks with ingredients, which was a little bit uncanny. He was a cook, a specialist. It had to be done this way after all.

Ivan was clearly suffering. His eyes burnt red and watery, chest heaved sweaty, and skin soaked all over in a terrible heat.

Smerdyakov was fascinated by this view. It proved that the devil did exist, just right before him. The only difference was: HE offered cherries instead of apples. But Smerdyakov cared not for this. He would take them all no matter what, so he bit one of them and immediately tasted the sound of Ivan’s tears.

Ivan was ready, and there was no point waiting any longer. Let the blood run in their veins, let the passion of Karamazov whip and destroy! They were so much related to each other than they should be. Like bone of bones, flesh of flesh.

Smerdyakov wiped Ivan’s tears away, and thrusted his way inside of him.

And Ivan's sensation exploded. He felt like a dying fish, or a dying man drown in the water. Smerdyakov was practically drilling him, which made Ivan suffocated by simply trying to breathe. Wrists tied under his back, Ivan’s limbs went numb and so was his resisting consciousness. That burning shame sliced the hell out of him. He gradually lost grip of time or self or anything else. The suffering seemed like forever. He knew not who’s the devil any more. Did he come in shape of the hateful merchant, or that disgusting servant? He took too much, way too much to think properly. The devil grabbed his throat and claimed him, in an almost rightfully manner. Inside Ivan’s head he screamed and screamed, while Smerdyakov pushed harder and harder. He was so eager and craving, as if his whole life was depending on an ultimate answer, which only Ivan knew. He had thousands of wishes and desires awaiting to be filled, and one soul to be loved. 

But Ivan remained utterly silent, until the last shred of sense gave him away. 

 

 

Ivan was awake, but refused to open his eyes. The shadow of devil was still hovering in his poor mind. He had to be patient, otherwise HE might again make fun of him and stayed longer than he should. Episodes struck him like that from time to time, so he had learnt to live with it, except that the mischievous devil wore the horrifying face of Smerdyakov. That was novel, if not mad…

He blinked his eyes. Thank god Smerdyakov was not there. 

The nightmare made his whole body sore, wrists in particular, but there was no sign of stain (what did he expect to see?), which made sense to some extent. It happened before, when Ivan was controlled by his devil. He had once hurt himself unconsciously. It would all be fine if he just dressed himself up properly. What a decent-looking young man! Ivan sat up and buried himself into another set of suit.

Done.

Ivan grabbed his hat, took a deep breath and felt ready to take a stroll. He didn’t know where to go, nor did he care. It’s just he couldn’t stay in this room anymore. 

The moment he unlocked the door, Smerdyakov showed up right in front of him. The servant was holding a plate of pastry; seemed that he was about to knock the door. He could barely hold it when he saw Ivan, face stripped of colour as if scared by unspeakable monster. And Ivan disliked it from the bottom of his heart. He commanded: “I’m going out. Take it away.”

Smerdyakov did not move, instead his gaze fixed on Ivan with the same annoying rudeness, insisting on meeting his master’s eyes. Ivan stood still without paying back his keen attention. The air fell awkward for a while, but eventually the servant gave in. Smerdyakov put down the plate and took Ivan’s scarf from the hat stand. He wrapped Ivan in the scarf, so very naturally as if he had rehearsed it many times. Ivan was about to break away but he remained stiff and expressionless. 

Those fingers were chaining him. Unbearable fingers.

At length, Smerdyakov had his job done. He backed off to the door side and bowed reverently: “Please come home for supper tonight. Master Fyodor had insisted upon your accompanying him.”

 

END

 

Notes: 

1\. I planned to write a hallucination!pwp at first, because that’s fairly reasonable according to the original text, but…I think Ivan deserved more. He deserved something real. 

2\. Smerdyakov was a cook, so he suggested to kill Fyodor by poisoning.

3\. Ivan and Smerdyakov might have known each other since childhood, but I don’t think Ivan fancied that idea. He probably pretended that he never met the servant before.

4\. That thick and heavy thing was the Holy Bible.

5\. Well obviously I am not a native speaker in English...pls forgive me if anything goes wrong.

 


End file.
